Before They Were Agents: Budapest
by Nikolaos
Summary: "He made a different call." Why did Clint not kill Natasha? Maybe they'd met before, maybe more than once. This is the time they met in Budapest. Agent Barton is on a mission that has gone drastically wrong, he's lost contact with SHIELD and he's hurt. He has one option left, seek help from a woman who promised to shoot him.


**"He made a different call."**

Why did Barton not take the shot? Maybe it was because they had met before. Maybe more than once. That time in Budapest, was just one of those meetings before Hawkeye and Black Widow became the best Agents SHIELD ever had.

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-A-

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Clint ran for the edge of the building, he could hear his hunters closing the distance behind him. The Kárpáti family were one tenacious bunch. You would think that after five miles his pursuers would have given up by now. But no, they just kept coming.

He'd love nothing better than to just shoot the lot of them. But thanks to SHIELD's no unauthorized weapons policy, he didn't have his bow with him. His rifle he'd had to abandon at his perch and his own handgun had an empty clip. This was supposed to be a low key, low risk mission. Hell, his handler Agent Swanson was so sure it was a milk run that he wasn't even wearing a vest.

Leaping from his current rooftop across the gap and landing with a roll onto the next rooftop he was up and running again with limited loss of speed. Though to his great displeasure so were his pursuers. Putting on a little bit of extra speed he started to change his current course so it would take him over higher rooftops with bigger gaps between buildings and a less even run. If they could carry on keeping on his heels then he deserved to be caught.

Well, no. He didn't believe that. Not for a moment. But Godamnit! They were persistent.

"You can stop running now," said a man suddenly appearing in front of him, wearing a suit of all things and pointing a handgun at him. Clint skidded to a halt, where had he come from? They were six stories up and there was no obvious roof access. So unless this guy could teleport, which was a distinctive possibility, though he doubted it. It meant that he had been herded in this direction. Damn, was he stupid!

"You've got nowhere to run, Barton," said the man.

Okay, now he was unsettled. This man knew his name, his real name. There were only a handful of people who knew his real name, and none of them would have told this guy voluntarily.

Of course the Kárpáti family had a long reach throughout Europe. You needed a partner for your shady business, you called the Kárpáti family. It didn't matter what, whether it be drugs, weapons, people, import or export. The Kárpáti family dealt in it all.

Somehow the Kárpáti's knew he was coming. Did that mean they had their fingers within SHIELD? Maybe. They'd known exactly which roof he would be standing on when he was about to take the shot to assassinate Viktor Kárpáti, the head of the Kárpáti family.

Now he was running for his life, had lost contact with SHIELD and had a guy pointing a gun at him. He really hated it when people pointed guns at him, and yet it happened so often.

Clint smiled as he stood up straighter and started moving towards the right side of the roof. If he had a choice it wouldn't be this particular edge he'd choose to jump off first. In truth it wouldn't even be his second choice, the gap to the next building was too large, he'd never make it. He'd have to drop six stories to the ground.

Could he do that without hurting himself? Possibly, but it looked like he didn't have a choice. He didn't like not having choices.

He heard the men that had been behind him land on his current roof. They'd caught up faster than he thought they would. He didn't like that there were other people who could travel the '_high road_' as well as he could. This was his territory. No matter the city, no matter the country. He owned the rooftops. These guys were just pissing him off.

"Do I know you?" asked Clint, hoping to stall the guy.

"We've been tracking you for a long time."

Clint arched one eyebrow up at that. He was very careful; some might even call him paranoid. He had numerous fake passports and many people indebted to him that could get him in and out of countries and cities undetected. The idea that someone or some organisation could track his movements was a little absurd, even SHIELD had taken years to catch up with him. Now that he was an agent of SHIELD the amount of protection and backstopping had more than doubled. This guy was bluffing, he had to be.

Clint glanced down quickly to see if the alley below was clear of anything that might obstruct his landing. The alley floor was clear but there were numerous washing lines that were strung up between the buildings. On the plus side he could use those to his advantage, maybe slow his descent, decrease the chances of breaking his legs or worse his neck when he landed. Downside, it was going to hurt.

"You need to come with us," said the suit guy. From the way the guy spoke Clint could tell that this guy was high up in the family, he'd had a good education. There was little to no accent. The cut of the suit helped cement his theory, it was not an off the rack piece. Which meant he was probably a first cousin of Viktor Kárpáti. Though Clint had memorised the face of every Kárpáti family member worth noting. This guy wasn't included. So either Intel. had messed up. Or there was a bigger reason to why this guy was surrounded by more shadows than Viktor himself. Of course he could have been set up.

Nope, he was not going to think like that. SHIELD was better than that, right?

"I don't think so," smirked Clint taking another step towards the edge.

"If you don't, I will be forced to shoot you," pointed out the suit guy. Clint heard the distinctive sound of multiple guns being removed from their holsters from behind him. Perfect, more guns being pointed at him.

"I guess you'll just have to shoot me then," grinned Clint before he spun around and threw himself off the roof.

He had just grabbed the line when a sharp pain ripped through his side. His grip failed and he found himself falling before slamming into the washing line below. Suddenly he was spinning and twisting as he hit every line below that until he slammed into the ground, his left leg buckled underneath him planting him face first on the cold concrete beneath him.

Groaning in pain Clint started to push himself up, he had to get moving if he was going to escape his pursuers. Ignoring the pain in his left ankle he started towards the adjacent alley, what he couldn't ignore was the pain that spread through his right side. Looking down he wasn't surprised to see a hole in his shirt with a growing bloodstain. _Damn it!_ He was making a new rule for himself, always wear his vest and always double check the Intel.

He moved his hand to his back, to check if there was an exit wound. Cursing when he didn't find one. Just his luck, now he'd have to dig it out and he didn't have the proper tools to do it.

Looking up at the roof he'd just jumped off he saw only one man looking down at him, the one in the suit. He presumed the others were already making their way to the ground to continue the chase. Clint gave a mock salute to the man before moving as fast as he could away from his current position and into the warren of alleys that made up this side of the city.

Clint was still weaving his way through the alleys of Budapest twenty minutes later as he tried to avoid the men hunting him. _Damn, these guys were persistent._ He had to find a place to hide and recover. He'd brushed off his ankle as only a sprain, ignoring the pulse of pain that spiked up his leg every time he put weight on his leg.

The bullet wound in his side though was throbbing and still bleeding. He had to get it out or he'd be dead for sure.

He knew he was slowing down, and it didn't matter how much he tried to push himself faster the amount of blood he was losing was slowly killing him.

Looking up at the nearest street sign, he needed a plan. Randomly moving through the city wasn't helping him. That was when he realised he knew exactly where he was. Two blocks from a former a safe house. A safe house of a former partner in crime, a woman who was just as likely to kill him as to help him. But right now, he didn't have a choice.

Of course, she might not even be there, probably wasn't. The woman did like to travel. There would be a fully stocked first aid kit in the house, in fact it would be more like a fully stocked trauma kit all the tools needed to pull a bullet out of his body.

He'd leave an IOU.

-A-

Clint dropped onto the second floor balcony, stumbling slightly on the landing as pain spiked through his body. Leaning against the wall his breaths coming in shallow gasps as grey spots started to cloud his vision. He reached forward and tried the door handle, not surprised when he found it locked. Pulling out his picks from his belt he worked quickly to unlock the door.

Moving slowly into the room he found himself in the master bedroom, and came face to face with the woman he'd really hoped hadn't been home, and she had a gun pointed right at his heart.

"Hi," Clint breathed as he pressed his right hand against the bullet wound.

"I promised to shoot you if I saw you again," smiled the woman coldly. "But it looks like someone already beat me too it."

"Yeah," nodded Clint.

"Why are you here?"

"I need help." Clint tried to smile but it came out as more of a grimace.

"I can see that," she smirked.

"Natasha, please," Clint begged. He hated how weak he sounded, but his side was more than throbbing now and the grey patches that had started on the edge of his vision were turning black. He needed help and he needed it now.

"Maybe I should just put a bullet through your head," she smirked as she switched her aim to his head.

"Excellent. Fantastic, put me out of my misery. But I'd rather just use your bathroom."

Natasha arched an eyebrow at the young man. He was just as insufferable today as he was the last time they had met, and the time before that. Always with the jokes.

"What do I get in return if I help you?"

"I'd owe you one," Clint sighed. He was feeling very dizzy now.

"Better men than you have said that and then paled when I came to collect."

"I won't," breathed Clint as he collapsed to the floor letting out a small groan.

"Oh no, no, no," muttered Natasha as she lowered her gun and walked forward to crouch near Clint. "You are not bleeding out on the Persian rug." She pulled Clint up so he was sitting and leaning against her. "Get up," she ordered as she hoisted him to his feet.

"Thanks Nat," he mumbled as he struggled to get his feet beneath him.

Natasha let out a small huff in frustration. She did not like nicknames, yet nothing she said or did scared this little American. "Do not thank me yet."

Together they moved towards the adjoining bathroom, where she lowered Clint onto the tiled floor. "Don't die," she ordered before exiting the room. Coming back five minutes later with a large first aid kit in hand and a boiled kettle.

Opening the box, Natasha pulled out a pair of surgical gloves and slipped them on. Before taking out a metal bowel and resting it on the floor by her knees. She then poured in the boiling water. "Should I be worried about the people who shot you, coming here?"

"No," breathed Clint as his eyes closed. He hadn't seen his hunters for a good five minutes before he'd landed on the balcony. He'd finally lost them.

"Ah, ah," ordered Natasha tapping Clint's cheek. "No sleeping. I have Lidocaine to numb the area. You're not allergic are you?"

Natasha pulled out several surgical instruments and placed them in the boiling bowel of water. Before taking a pair of scissors and cutting through Clint's shirt.

Clint huffed in amusement. "Would it bother you if I was?"

"Yes," she said as she injected the anaesthetic near the wound. "Then I would have to dispose of a body."

"I'm touched by your concern."

"Don't be. Bite this."

Clint took the bathroom towel she had rolled up and handed to him. Lidocaine was only a local anaesthetic, it wouldn't numb all the pain and it wouldn't do for the neighbours to hear him scream.

Taking the surgical retractors out of the water, Natasha dried them with some sterile gauze before inserting them into the wound and opening it wider so she could see the edge of the bullet. It wasn't too deep, and appeared to have missed anything of vital importance.

Clint bit down hard on the towel, his eyes scrunching closed. Yeah, Lidocaine really wasn't meant for this type of invasive surgery.

"Stay still," ordered Natasha before placing a lit pen-torch in her mouth in order to give herself more light to work with. Picking up the forceps from the bowel, she dried them off before inserting them into the wound.

Clint screamed into the towel as his body tensed up. Using her free hand Natasha braced herself against Clint's body while she tried to get a hold of the bullet without doing more damage to his insides.

Barely a minute had gone by, though it seemed like an eternity for Clint when Natasha took the pen-torch out of her mouth. "I have it." She held the little thing above his head so he could see it.

"I just need to stitch the wound up now," Natasha told him as she placed the bullet, forceps and retractors back into the bowel of water.

Replacing her bloody gloves with clean ones she opened a pre-packed suture kit.

Clint let out a long breath, releasing his hold on the towel. He really wanted to sleep, but he knew there was still away to go before he'd be able to do that. If he was lucky, Natasha would let him stay here for a while. Of course she might still be mad at him for what happened the last time they'd met, so she could just chuck him out as soon as she had finished stitching him up. One could never tell with her.

Natasha didn't give him time to rest. Wiping away the excess blood she started with the stitches. Using absorbable stitches for the inside of Barton's gut and non-absorbable stitches for skin level. Barton could remove them ones himself in a week or so. Not that he needed to be told that, this was not the first time Barton had needed stitches. This was not even the first time she had stitched him up. Of course that time, they had nothing more than a bottle of vodka, some twine and a needle she was sure had been used on a pig.

Finally, she taped some gauze over the closed wound. "I am done," she said tapping him on the face to get him to open his eyes. She was not sure when he had passed out. Even when he was in pain, he was remarkably good at staying still. It was one of the things she admired about him. "You can stay here tonight, but tomorrow you leave."

"Thanks," he mumbled as she helped him off the floor, the small hiss of air he sucked in between his teeth as his newly acquired stitches pulled, wasn't commented on. Neither of them commented either on how much she was supporting him as she led him back into the bedroom.

Natasha gently helped Clint onto the bed, his eyes closed again before his head even touched the pillow. She watched as his breathing evened out as he fell into a deep sleep. Clint Barton was a mystery to her.

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-A-

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Clint opened his eyes to early morning sunlight streaming in through the window.

"It is time for you to go," said Natasha from the other side of the room.

Clint looked over to her. "How long was I out?"

"Longer than I would have liked."

"You really need to work on your bedside manner."

"I did not kill you in your sleep."

"Point taken," Clint smirked as he pushed himself up. Wincing slightly. "You got a phone I can use?"

Natasha raised an eyebrow in question. "You calling your new friends at SHIELD?"

"How did you know I work for SHIELD?"

Natasha shrugged, "I know a lot of things. Like how you missed the hit on Kárpáti. I thought you never missed?"

"I don't. I never got the chance to take the shot, so it doesn't count," Clint didn't bother to ask how she knew why he was in Budapest. She wouldn't tell him, not the truth anyway.

"I thought you were better than that."

"I am," protested Clint as he stood up. The pain in his ankle was minimal. He could ignore it. The pain in his side though was spiking the longer he stayed standing.

"Take these," Natasha said tossing him a bottle of vicodin.

"I'm good."

"You are far from good. Take one."

Clint raised an eyebrow, but did as he was told. Sometimes it was not worth the pain of defying Natasha, and as much as he hated to admit it. The vicodin would help.

Natasha stood up and walked closer to Clint. "I liked your work in Tokyo. A year later and I find you are slipping."

"No, I'm not. I've just got some new rules to abide by," huffed Clint.

"People like us do not live by other people's rules. We have our own."

"A phone?"

Natasha pulled a cell phone from her back pocket and handed it to Clint. "Not from here."

"Wouldn't dream of it," smiled Clint as he moved carefully to the balcony he had entered through last night.

"Barton, be careful. The Kárpáti are still searching the city. It would be a shame if they killed you now." She might not like Barton, but she liked the Kárpáti even less.

"You know me, I'm always careful," chuckled Clint.

Natasha rolled her eyes at that.

"Hey Nat, you be careful too. SHIELD have you on their watch list."

"Queen of hearts if I'm not mistaken. Kill on site."

Clint bowed his head. He'd seen the cards, all agents had a set. Fifty-two of the worlds most notorious criminals.

"Yet, you sought me out for help. Why?"

"Actually I was hoping you weren't here," shrugged Clint. Natasha raised an eyebrow at that comment. "We've known each other for a long time. You've saved my life, more than once and I've saved yours. More than once. I'm not going to kill you Nat."

"And if you're ordered? If your new rules tell you that you must?"

Clint smirked, "Rules are made to be broken."

"That they are."

Clint pulled himself up on to the railing, his stitches pulling. That's when he had an idea, SOP said he should contact SHIELD and await new orders. Turning back to Natasha he smirked. "Speaking of breaking the rules. You fancy taking out some Kárpáti kutyák?"

If he went back to the Kárpáti's main house now he could take out Viktor and the mystery man, not to mention a helluva lot more of the family. Plus if the family had their fingers in SHIELD then they wouldn't be expecting it.

Natasha grinned as she tapped her ever present Makarov. Barton could be most insufferable at times, however he always invited her to the best parties. So she wouldn't kill him, not today at least.

.

-A-


End file.
